


Camouflage

by lezlies



Category: The Professionals (TV 1977)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-19
Updated: 2020-09-19
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:54:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26549302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lezlies/pseuds/lezlies
Summary: Originally published in In The Public Interest, June 1985, Sunshine Press
Relationships: William Bodie & Ray Doyle
Comments: 2
Kudos: 23





	Camouflage

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published in In The Public Interest, June 1985, Sunshine Press

Bodie paused in the doorway. Engrossed in conversation, neither of the two agents supposedly staking out the opposite house noticed his arrival. Damn sloppy was what it was, he thought disgustedly. Considering who the agents were though, they were lucky to have found the window. Simmons was a lazy bastard who had no business in CI5. Bodie had gone so far as to venture that opinion to Cowley who had greeted his fledgling foray into personnel evaluation with icy indifference. Simmons' partner, Jack Cole, was a kid who might have some talent, but a few more weeks with Simmons would smother it. 

Bodie moved back around the corner. A conversation involving Simmons normally wouldn't attract his attention. But lately there had been too many conversations abruptly cut off when he entered a room, too many meaningful glances exchanged when his back was thought turned. Paranoia never having been a problem, he knew something new was hotting up the rumor mill and Simmons was the type to be in there stoking the fire. Bodie felt no qualms as he eavesdropped. 

"I can't believe you didn't know." Simmons was at his efficient best, chair tilted back, fingers locked behind his neck as he glanced out the window. 

Cole shrugged as he brought down the binoculars he had had trained on the suspect's house. "He never struck me that way." 

"All you have to do is look at him." 

Cole seemed unconvinced. "You can't tell by looking at someone." 

"Listen, son, when you've been in this game as long as I have you'll learn to see things. Christ, you've seen that little fairy bracelet he wears, haven't you? De you wear a bracelet to work? Nah. Doyle's queer all right." His tone dripped condescending assurance. "It turns my stomach, let me tell you. He walks around like he knows it all, tellin' everyone what to do. Nothing worse than an arrogant faggot." 

"How come he's still on the squad?" 

"You really are wet behind the ears!" Simmons shook his head in mock disbelief. "Think about it. Comes in handy for the old man, doesn't it? Bodie and Doyle are his prize studs. Send Bodie in to tumble the birds and Doyle to tumble the blokes." 

Under the cover of their laughter, Bodie moved quietly across the room until he was behind them. 

"Simmons." Bodie spoke softly, but the cold menace cut through the laughter. 

Cole dropped the binoculars from suddenly nerveless fingers and Simmons almost toppled his chair. 

"Christ, who the hell--" Simmons broke off as he saw the dark figure looming over him. 

"You're a disgusting liar, Simmons." Bodie grabbed his collar, yanking him to his feet. "I'm only going to say this once. My partner isn't queer, and you damn well know it. Stop trying to make Cole here believe you know what the hell you're talking about. He's too new to know that nobody listens to any of your crud. Now, I want you to switch on the brain you never use and listen. The next time I hear someone talking about Doyle bein' queer, I'm callin' on you. Remember that!" 

When Bodie released his grip, Simmons collapsed back into his chair. 

"You two ace agents can get out of here." Bodie scooped up the binoculars and turned his attention to the window. 

Simmons scrambled for the door. Safely out of reach, he said, "Now it's your turn to listen. I'm not the only one sayin' your precious partner is queer, Bodie. You better watch it or people will start wondering who gave him his little bracelet." He beat a hasty retreat. 

Bodie's fingers tightened on the black metal of the binoculars. Simmons would never know how close he had come to never having to worry about his back again. When a thorough scan of the area revealed no activity, Bodie lowered the glasses and slammed his hand against the window frame, wishing it was Simmons' face instead of inanimate wood. A grim smile lifted the corners of his mouth. He couldn't have found a better substitute for Simmons' brain if he had tried. The next time he faced him across the mat in a training exercise the bastard would lose the use of his balls for a month. 

The momentary cheer this brought quickly evaporated. Simmons wouldn't have had the guts to make that parting shot if he hadn't been sure others were talking. CI5 was a rumor mill; it was a fact of life in any good organization. Most of it was harmless, no more than good-natured kidding, but some of it was nasty, and this was the nastiest. The old nudge, nudge, wink, wink, cryptic comments provoking rumors that spread like wildfire. 

He wondered how long it had been going on and how he could have missed it. The latter only took a moment to figure. He didn't catch it because it was the last thing he would have considered rumor material. Ray Doyle queer? It was ridiculous. Anyone who knew him at all would know that. 

But people who knew Doyle weren't doing the jabbering. This was the work of third-raters, bored administrative flunkies and people with scores to settle. Simmons qualified on more than one count. Doyle pushed himself hard, giving the job everything and he expected nothing less from his fellow agents. Simmons had earned the sharp edge of Doyle's tongue on several occasions. Somehow, knowing this made Bodie even angrier. The thought of those jerks snickering over Ray Doyle, the second best agent in CI5, infuriated him. 

Preoccupied as he was, he still heard the first sign of activity outside the door. Although it was probably Doyle, he still glanced at the mirror on the wall that reflected the doorway. If he ever got as careless as Simmons, he knew it would be time to quit. 

Seeing the familiar figure enter, Bodie grabbed the binoculars, the activity covering his confusion. He'd been so angry that he hadn't given much thought to what or even if he was going to say anything to Doyle. The whole thing would probably die down in a week, maybe even days. People who wanted to believe it would, those who didn't wouldn't. Why stir things up by telling Doyle? Besides, it was a rather difficult subject to work into a conversation. 'By the way, mate...' No, it would be better and easier for all concerned to just let the thing run its course. 

"Mornin'," Doyle drawled from the doorway of the bedroom. His greeting wasn't returned. He paused, scowling at his partner's back. "You must have found a naked bird to be payin' this much attention to your duties." 

Fresh from defending Doyle's honor, Bodie didn't appreciate the comment. He lowered the glasses, turning toward the voice. Anything he intended to say was lost as his eyes took in the figure leaning against the door frame. Simmons' words echoed in his mind. 'All you have to do is look at him.' 

"I hope this isn't a long term stake out," Doyle groused, eyeing the shabby room with its two straight backed chairs and one flimsy looking cot. 

"You're late," Bodie snapped, turning back to the window. He heard Doyle's tread on the worn carpet, then felt him hovering behind him. 

"That's rich coming from you." Doyle peered over his shoulder. "With your record, I should be grateful you didn't call in sick on me and stay in bed." 

Bodie bit back an equally sarky reply. If they started snapping at each other the day would be endless. "Left my watch at Linda's, didn't I." 

He grinned at Doyle and handed him the glasses. "Your turn, Sunshine. Had a late night, and it was quicker to come straight over here. I'm gonna kip out for a few hours." 

"That's more like the Bodie I know," said Doyle, falling back into familiar banter. "Shall I wake sir for lunch?" Getting no reply, Doyle shrugged and turned to the window. 

Bodie stretched out on the cot and determinedly kept his eyes shut. Here he was trying to keep Doyle from getting upset about the rumors and all he could do was jump him the minute he walked in the door. Calm down, he told himself, relax. When Doyle was convinced he was asleep, Bodie opened one eye, covertly studying his partner. He'd been exposed to Doyle's inimitable style for so long that he took it for granted. Now he really looked, using the same techniques he would to size up a suspect, forcing himself to see what others saw; and as nauseating as it was, even what Simmons could use to bolster his rumor. 

The first thing that caught his attention was the hair. Those damn curls were in their usual wild scramble. His hair could stand trimming, he conceded. A decent haircut might make him look less... artistic? But there was nothing to be done about the face the curls framed. The odd set of the eyes, the full lips, and the fine boned features sometimes made him oddly beautiful. Yet two minutes later, those same features could get screwed into a scowl so fierce that ugly wouldn't begin to describe him. 

Doyle, or more specifically, his bum, was perched against the back of the chair at an angle that should have defied gravity. Bodie knew that if he tried it, the chair would skid across the floor, and dump him on his arse. Doyle had a distinctive style of movement, but there wasn't anything queer about it. Drop him from a four-story building and he'd land like a little cat, just as graceful and natural. 

Little. There was no getting around the fact that Doyle was small, although Doyle didn't have any trouble doing just that. He wasn't all that short, but turn him sideways and you'd lose him, he was that skinny. But in spite of it, or maybe because of it, Doyle could be one of the toughest bastards Bodie had ever run across. He'd lost count of the number of big goons who had found themselves flat on their backs with a size nine footprint across their chests before they realized what had hit them. 

Maybe if Doyle would dress a little more conventionally it would make the stupid rumor less believable. It was amazing that Doyle could breathe, let alone walk in the jeans he wore. Bodie looked at what he was wearing today. It was the green shirt, the flowy-looking one, with the inevitably rolled-up sleeves that accentuated the thin wrists. 

A glint of sunlight reflected by the silver bracelet caught his eye. It was the problem, even Simmons had made a big deal about it. It had shown up about a month ago and Bodie hadn't even thought to question him about it, accepting it as another eccentricity along with the health food and the haircut. That small, thin bracelet became the focus of Bodie's anger. 

Doyle was an odd combination of toughness and guarded sensitivity. The bracelet upset the balance of how he was perceived. Rather than looking like an eccentric street tough, the bracelet made him look like a psychotic ballet dancer. Unbidden, an image formed in his mind. The stage was full of dancers, frozen in place, waiting for the star to enter. Out stalked Doyle, gun in hand, in blue jeans and a tutu... 

"What's so funny?" 

Bodie jerked to full awareness, realizing he must have been about to doze off. "You are, mate." His affectionate grin was met with a suspicious scowl. The grin slid into outright laughter. 

"First you're grinnin' in your sleep, now you're cacklin' like a chicken. They're gonna put you away one of these days." 

Bodie got up from the cot, grabbed the glasses and shoved Doyle aside. "Here, give me those. They've probably dragged six dead bodies, eight canisters of plutonium, and ten IRA terrorists past since you started watchin'." 

Bodie came to a decision. Blaming Doyle for being Doyle was stupid. Even if he was a little unconventional, he was still the only partner worth anything he had ever had. If idiots like Simmons wanted to flap their mouths, then he would just knock their collective teeth down their collective throats. 

************

Seventy-five. Seventy-six. Out of the corner of his eye, Bodie could see McCabe on the chin up bar next to his. Seventy-seven. Seventy-eight. He had come here to put his ear to the ground, while secretly hoping to find Simmons on the mat. Seventy-nine. Eighty. Eighty-one. It had been four days since he'd heard Simmons' little bombshell. Eighty-two. Eighty-three. And from what he could tell, the damn rumor was still the conversation of choice throughout CI5. Eighty-four. 

McCabe started doing his count aloud, but annoyingly, he was one ahead. Eighty-five. Eighty-six. The bastard was challenging him. Eighty-seven. That fuckin' rumor was leading McCabe to believe that the top team spot was in contention. Well, he was wrong. Eighty-eight. Eighty-nine. McCabe and Lucas were going to stay number two. 

McCabe and Lucas had swept past Betty to report to the Cow as if they owned the place. Ninety-one, Ninety-two. That assignment should have been his and Doyle's. He'd felt like a fool dropping their surveillance report on a third-rate diplomat into the box on Betty's desk. Ninety- three. Ninety-four. All because of that fucking rumor. Ninety-five. Ninety-six. 

Come on McCabe, give it up. Ninety-seven. A mumbled curse and the sound of McCabe hitting the floor told Bodie he had won. His arms ached, but he kept going. Ninety-eight. Ninety-nine. One hundred. He couldn't pull off the nonchalant drop he'd intended, but the sight of McCabe panting on the floor was some consolation. 

They looked at each other, both acknowledging the challenge and the outcome, but neither spoke. "How about a workout on the mat," Bodie asked. 

"Not for me. I'm due at a briefing with Cowley. We're on the Robertson op." 

Bodie managed to look unimpressed. 

McCabe got to his feet, looked around, then leaned conspiratorially toward Bodie. "When is Doyle going to do something about the rot that's bein' spread?" 

There was no need to ask what he was talking about. "Why should he?" 

"Well, if it was me, I'd be knocking some heads together, let me tell you. He'd better at least deny it or--" 

"Or what?" Bodie snapped. McCabe was overstepping himself, and he was quite willing to put him back in his place. 

"Never mind. See you later." 

Bodie returned to his workout, but he was wondering the same thing as McCabe. Haw could Doyle ignore all the snickering and the smart comments? If all this was happening to him, it would have lasted a grand total of five seconds. Long enough for him to at least maim the person responsible. 

He took over the weighted arm pulley when Martin finished. Adding another fifteen pounds of pull, he began his count. He was still surprised the talk had gone on this long. Some of it was Doyle's fault. If he didn't keep to himself so much maybe the others wouldn't have such a hard time approaching him. about it. But the little drama with McCabe had proved one thing. All this was starting to affect their position in CI5 ... and he would let nothing interfere with that. 

Doyle never seemed to grasp the jockeying for power that went on between teams. Cowley encouraged it, knowing it kept them sharp. Old George had his little ways of bestowing his blessing on chosen teams: who reported directly to him, who got a drink in the middle of the morning, who got whisked away with Cowley at the end of the op instead of standing around for the interminable clean-up, even who he yelled at the most. Cowley snapped at them in private, but when it came time for an important job, he tapped them. 

Sometimes he resented Doyle for not doing his share. Today he had wanted Ray to join him in the gym, but not for the physical benefits of the workout. A show of team unity was needed, but as usual Doyle couldn't be bothered. Proving it here in CI5 was as important as proving it on the street. It was damned hard work keeping track of who was doing what, and Doyle was totally oblivious. 

At the same time, in the back of his mind, there was a tiny bit of envy for Doyle. The thought of people laughing at him the way they were laughing at Doyle would be intolerable. But Doyle was above it all. Doyle did what he wanted, dressed as he wanted, and didn't give a crap what people thought about him. That was a freedom Bodie had never enjoyed. 

Giving a last vicious tug, he let the weights clank to the floor. On his way to the showers, he saw Martin and Smith with their heads together, and wondered suspiciously if they were talking about Doyle. If he hadn't been paranoid when all this began, he would be when it ended. If it ever did. 

************

"You know why the Cow stuck us in here with these bloody files, don't you, Bodie?" 

Doyle slapped the next pile of records that needed indexing in front of his partner. Bodie selected the top one, not bothering to answer the question, certain that Doyle was determined to share the information. 

"It's because you've been acting like a bloody maniac all week. It's not bad enough you've been growling at everyone who's looked at you sideways. No, you had to go and get into a punch-up in the rest room." 

Ignoring this somewhat sensationalized version of the day's events, Bodie pretended to be absorbed in the file. To sit and listen to a bloody lecture delivered by the person who had caused the fight in the first place was not improving his temper. 

"You haven't listened to a word I've said." Doyle sighed, shaking his head in resignation. "You've been bothered about something since that last stakeout. Did Linda dump you?" 

For someone who could sometimes keep up with Cowley in the puzzle department, Doyle could be exceedingly obtuse. Not by word or gesture had Doyle given any indication that he knew about the storm of controversy surrounding him. Bodie's own temper was frayed after a week of gritting his teeth. A few times he had been unable to resist temptation and had threatened a few of the more blatant gossip mongers. If only his ungrateful prat of a partner knew what he'd been doing for him. But Doyle not knowing was the whole point. 

"Yeah, that's it. Here, staple these back together. I wanna get out of here." The stack of files he shoved Doyle's way promptly tilted, sliding to the floor between them. 

"That's just great," Doyle commented nastily. "There's another hour's work." 

"They slid to the floor, Doyle. I didn't stop to shuffle them. Just pick them up carefully and staple them." The exaggerated patience in his voice was not lost on his partner. 

"That's it. I've had it. You can pick up the soddin' files yourself and staple them to your arse, for all I care." Doyle got up to make his grand exit, but as he was turning away he snagged his bracelet on the drawer handle. 

"Careful, Sunshine. We wouldn't want to ruin that pretty bracelet." 

"Would you mind explaining that?" Doyle's voice was cool as he assessed his partner. 

Bodie was ready to lay down his self-inflicted burden. He was out of patience with Doyle, Simmons' crew, and most of all, himself. It was time to let his uncharacteristically dense partner have a dose of what he had been putting up with. Let him deal with it himself. 

"Tell me, Doyle. Do you have any idea what's bein' said about you?" Bodie reached over and shut the office door. "You wander around here totally oblivious!" 

"You mean that I'm gay? Yeah, I've heard it." Doyle shrugged. "So?" 

The total lack of concern sent Bodie's temper soaring. 

"Is that all you can say? How can you be so calm about the fact that half the bloody department is sayin' you're queer? Christ, Doyle they're laughing at you!" 

Doyle looked at him as though he was an escaped lunatic. "And what can I do about it? Knock off a bird on the rest room floor? Then they'd just say I swung both ways. Besides, it's not everybody. Has Cowley said anything? What about Murphy, Jax, McCabe? Why are you so upset?" 

"My partner makes himself the talk of the department and he asks why I'm upset?" He shook his head in disbelief. "I've spent the last three days setting people straight about you and you could care less. That's just great!" 

"Do you mean to tell me you've been pulling this act because you've been telling these stupid gossips that I'm straight? No wonder it hasn't died out! Who asked you to stick your nose in this, anyway?" 

The manifest unfairness of Doyle's attitude astounded Bodie. Doyle wasn't mad at the people who said he was gay, just at the one who was trying to protect him. "You're my partner, you ungrateful little bastard!" 

Doyle gave a bitter laugh. "So that's it, is it. You're my partner," Doyle mimicked. "Guilt by association, eh, Bodie? Don't worry, I'll go to the rest room and tell everyone that you resisted my unnatural advances." 

Stung by the sarcasm. Bodie struck back. "I don't have to worry about that. You see, I keep my jewelry at home." 

"You're a real wit, aren't you, Bodie? I don't owe any explanations to you or those cretins with the overactive imaginations. If they want to think I'm gay, let 'em. But I'm not going to change the way I live to stop their mouths." 

Bodie watched him stalk out. Normally he would have followed and tried to calm him down. As usual, Doyle had totally misinterpreted his motives. Bodie was tired of being treated like an insensitive moron by his partner. This time he'd let the martyr do what he seemed to enjoy doing--suffering. 

************

Doyle locked his car more from habit than any belief in its precautionary worth. In this neighborhood there was a one-in-three chance that the car would survive the night unmolested, locked or unlocked. 

The survival rate for unaccompanied outsiders wasn't much better, but Doyle wasn't letting that stop him. He respected the dangers of the area, but he didn't fear them. People who feared them didn't make it out, and he had. 

There was an eerie familiarity about the streets. There were some changes, but they were only surface ones. New shops lined the streets. That wasn't quite right. Different shops maybe, but nothing looked new, but then nothing ever looked new down here. 

He turned down a familiar alley. A slight hop to catch the fire ladder and he was soon on the roof. Etiquette, even in a place like this, had its place; a quick check told him that there were no kids locked out for the night sleeping up here and no lovers looking for a bit of privacy from the overcrowded flats below. He had spent time up here in both circumstances. 

The corner he had always thought of as his still had the cinder blocks standing in the corner. More fastidious now, he brushed them off before sitting down. From that vantage point he could see the streets below. He'd lost count of the hours he'd spent watching people going about their business. The nighttime had been more varied, an education unto itself. The prostitutes, their pimps, the customers, the addicts, the pusher--all of them had gone round and round, in and out of cars, alleys, and cheap rooms. 

The streets tonight seemed quieter than those he remembered, or maybe he was just more removed from them. He didn't belong here anymore, yet he didn't belong anywhere else. The past week had been enough to show him he hadn't ever belonged in CI5. 

He had the professional skills required of a CI5 agent, he even excelled in some. Six bullets fired, six men dead. He could sift through the human garbage, even masquerade as part of it when necessary. Actually, he was the best undercover man Cowley had. But sometimes in the squad room, he felt as if he were still undercover, listening to what was going on around him, reacting to it, but never a part of it. 

The male camaraderie, the team stuff, had always been a mystery to him. DC Doyle had been on the outside as well. But then, the others weren't too keen on spilling their guts to somebody who had blown the whistle on brother officers. So he fought alone, shrugging off the unshared jokes as distractions from the job. 

When he had joined CI5, he had secretly hoped that mystical bonding would this time embrace him as well, but it hadn't happened. He was respected for his abilities, maybe even liked by some, but he was viewed by wariness by most of his fellow agents. He was just going through the motions. The security the others seemed to get from it was missing for him. 

He couldn't imagine himself in a group anyway. Certainly not McCabe's macho gang, who trained themselves to death, mashing each other around the gym in an endless game of cock-of-the-walk. Jenkins' crowd of mostly ex-met boys, with their weekly blow outs at the Red Lion, wasn't his idea of a fun evening. And he didn't have the background for the small group of old school tie, Dad's club boys, who saw CI5 as just another rung on the career ladder. Losers like Simmons didn't have a group, they congregated together, surrounding each other with the false confidence of those who had an inkling of how inept they were, but weren't bright enough to do anything about it. 

If these rumors had started about Jax or Murphy, or any of the others, there would have been teasing, practical jokes or other nonsense. If Bodie... No, nobody would ever talk that way about Bodie. Bodie could be caught on his knees in the briefing room with a cock up his arse and make people believe he was on the floor looking for a bit of change that had fallen from his pocket. 

Sometimes he envied Bodie, though he rarely admitted, even to himself, what that odd twinge might be. Bodie didn't have to keep proving himself all the time. He radiated a competency that nobody challenged. Bodie belonged to no faction but was sought by all. He had the muscle to throw McCabe's bunch of masochists around the gym, and earn their good will; he could drink any of Jenkins' mob under the table, enjoying the loud evening insults and rowdy behavior; and he even cleaned up enough not to look out of place in a posh club, exchanging inane chatter as he gulped down expensive wine that never seemed to end up on his tab. 

Over the last year Doyle had begun to feel as if he was starting to gain acceptance. Obviously he had been mistaken. It was only the backwash of Bodie's popularity. Bodie had dragged him along to the Red Lion and prodded him to work out in the gym with the others. It was always Bodie including him. 

And today he had lashed out at Bodie. He hadn't meant to, but by virtue of being his only close friend, Bodie seemed to end up getting the brunt of whatever was bothering him. It wasn't fair. Despite the crack about the bracelet, Bodie had been genuinely concerned. 

Doyle rubbed his finger over the bracelet that circled his wrist. Each of the silver links was delicately joined to the next, looking as if a strong jerk would break it. Yet, the strength behind this chain had been enough to pull him from the streets. When he had started wearing it, he hadn't really thought it would attract much attention, but to quit wearing it would mean backing away from everything he lived by. 

Other than Bodie, only one other person had ever given a damn about him, and he had lost him in a fit of temper, not realizing what he had thrown away until it was too late. He didn't want that to happen with Bodie. He had become accustomed to the affectionate exasperation which Bodie generously bestowed upon him. He would miss it. 

Doyle stood and dusted himself off. It was time to make amends. 

************

Bodie snapped awake. In the first split second he knew there was someone in the bedroom. His subconscious had already identified the intruder because his hand wasn't lunging for the gun concealed only inches away and his body wasn't hurtling off to the side. There was only one person who could slip inside his defenses. 

"I've been sittin' here for twenty minutes." Bodie's eyes followed the sound of Doyle's voice. The room was dark, but a dim wash of light from the street silhouetted Doyle's form. He blinked and looked again. Doyle was sitting cross-legged on top of his dresser. 

"Just like you, Doyle, too cheap to pay for a movie." 

Doyle's earthy chuckle answered him. "That's right, I keep forgetting. Doyle's cheap, Bodie chews iron, Doyle's a fairy, and Bodie's a stud. We all have our assigned roles, don't we, mate." 

Bodie wasn't sure if he was expected to reply. He couldn't get a handle on Doyle's mood, but whatever prompted the odd visit, he was in for a late night. Resigned, he reached for the light. 

"No, don't bother. I won't be here that long." Bodie let his arm fall back to the bed. He didn't really need to see Doyle's face, that warmth in his voice told him what was there. 

"You'll have to watch your reputation, mate," Doyle continued. "You can't have known homosexuals creeping into your bedroom." 

"Ray, I never thought the rumors--" 

"Shut up, Bodie. I've come to apologize for the way I blew up at you, okay. So let me do it." Bodie shook his head in amused disbelief. Only Doyle could make an apology sound like a tongue lashing. What counted, though, was that it had bothered the little sod enough to drag him out in the middle of the night. 

"Bodie..." Doyle cleared his throat, sounding unsure. "I don't know why this is so fuckin' difficult, but it is." 

Warily Bodie sat up, arranging the pillows behind him. Beware of Doyles bearing apologies. "You've already apologized." 

"Not properly. What I said made it sound like I didn't appreciate you standing up for me. Well, I do, I always have, even though I'm not very good at lettin' you know I do." He spoke forthrightly, as if he'd been practicing what to say. "Christ, that sounds ridiculous." 

Bodie was absurdly warmed by the awkward declaration. "I know, Sunshine. You do the same for me." Bodie's voice was warm, but the darkness shielded him as well. "How come you didn't let on to me, that you knew what was bein' said?" 

Doyle shrugged. "It's embarrassing enough having half the bloody department thinking I'm bent, without telling someone like you about it." 

Bodie sat up straighter. "Someone like me?" 

"I mean ... you know." Doyle sighed impatiently. "Sod it, why are we tip-toeing around the subject? Somebody so... un-gay." 

Bodie laughed outright. "Un-gay? That's a new one. You'll have to suggest that to Cowley for descriptions. One Caucasian, un-gay, male, 5'10". Ow! That hurt!" He retrieved the brush Doyle had thrown and threw it back, hard. "You've got some pretty funny ideas about me, mate." 

Doyle snagged the brush and laid it down. "I was trying not to call you mindlessly macho, you big butch thing." 

"That's okay, petal," Bodie camped back, earning a gurgle of laughter from his shadow audience. Smiling, Bodie relaxed and pulled the pillow from behind his back, plopping it in his lap. 

"Seriously, Bodie, the word macho sounds like it's a put down, like it's some kind of act. It's not for you, you don't even have to think about it. I'm tough, tougher than you, but I don't have the presence you do." 

Bodie let the comment pass, knowing it wasn't the right time to challenge Doyle's claim. Still, something was bothering him. 

"Ray." Now it was his turn to be tongue-tied. "If you knew all along what was being said, why did you keep wearing the bracelet? You had to know that's what started this mess." He peered intently through the darkness. His eyes had grown more accustomed to it, allowing him to see Doyle more clearly, but the features he needed to see were still shrouded in shadow. 

"It means something to me." 

Bodie recognized the flat tone for what it was, a warning to keep back. Instead, he pressed. "Why?" 

"Somebody gave it to me." The all-too-familiar challenging edge was back in his voice. Doyle seemed to pull back, despite the fact there was no place to go. "And before I forget to mention it, the man was gay." 

Bodie's hand grabbed a fistful of pillow and twisted. Pain sliced through him at the casual way Doyle could push him away, giving him the same wary treatment he accorded the world. 

"If you didn't want to say, you should have said." The calmness he was forcing died away. "I could wring your scrawny neck when you use that 'make something of it' tone of voice with me." He paused. "Quit testing me, Doyle. Was I supposed to jump out of bed, ring up Simmons and announce the news?" 

Doyle didn't reply, but Bodie didn't expect it. According to the Doyle pattern of behavior the next sound heard would be the door slamming behind him. Bodie lay down, mashing the pillow into place. He was tired of heeding Doyle's keep-off signs. He threw them up seemingly on whim. It wouldn't be so bad if Doyle respected his privacy in return. But Doyle trampled any signs he tried to erect for himself. 

Safely ensconced in righteous indignation, it took a moment for Doyle's continued presence to register. He wasn't talking, but neither was he leaving. Bodie glanced at his bedside clock, startled to see it was almost four in the morning. Ignoring his uninvited guest, he watched the digital eight transform itself to a nine. The disappearance of one small line was all it took. When it read 4:09 he was almost asleep. 

"My hair has always been curly," Doyle said conversationally. Bodie rubbed his eyes, wondering if he had missed something. "I tried everything I could think of to straighten it. I even wore a stocking stretched over my head at night to train it to lay straight." 

"Lie straight." 

"What?" 

Bodie sighed. "Never mind. I don't know how to break this to you. Sunshine, but it didn't work." 

"Amazin' powers of observation," Doyle said admiringly. He eased his tense posture, letting one leg hang over the edge of the dresser. His fingers were exploring the outside of a small jewelry box. "I used to hate the way I looked. Just because I was small and had curly hair, I had to fight to prove I wasn't an easy target. All anyone had to do was look at me cross ways and I'd be on 'em. It doesn't bother me anymore. I owe that to him as well." 

"The bloke with the bracelet?" Intrigued, Bodie rolled onto his side, resting his head on his hand. He felt like a lion tamer reaching farther and farther into the lion's mouth, wondering how much Doyle was willing to confide before the jaws snapped shut. 

"Christ, you'd never believe how I met him. I was queer bashin'." 

"You were what?" Bodie cocked his head, sure he had misunderstood. 

"You heard right." Doyle opened the box, poking a finger through the contents as he talked. "I was 13. Y'see, I was trying to impress this gang. They were stealing hubcaps, snatchin' purses and the like, and I thought I was ready to join them. This was sort of an initiation. I was supposed to lure one of 'em into an alley where the others would be waiting to rob and beat him." 

Doyle's questing fingers found a gold watch. Bodie winced as the band was flexed and twisted in the long fingers. 

"Christ, but I was scared pissless. I must have stood out there half 'n hour because I wouldn't look any of 'em in the eye. Finally just to get it over with, I swore I'd talk to the next guy that came along. Naturally, it was a poor choice. I got him back there, but he put up a helluva fight. He wouldn't have had a chance, except Mike got careless. His tire iron missed the bloke and smashed my face all to hell. Everything else was hazy. I just remember everyone scattering, and laying there thinking I was going to die, it hurt so bad." 

Bodie heard the echo of pain, although Doyle was trying to sound flip. "I've wondered how you picked up that souvenir." 

"I woke up in the hospital a couple of days later," Doyle continued as if he hadn't heard the comment. "I was pretty doped, but I almost had a heart attack when my first visitor walked in. It was the bloke from the alley with two cops." 

Bodie frowned and set up. There was something missing. "What about your family? Where were they?" The thought of a child facing that alone appalled him. 

"My mother was on one of her trips." His voice was unchanged, but his grip on the watch tightened. "She didn't even know about it. Gran couldn't make it during visiting hours. Besides, she hated hospitals, they scared her to death." 

"What about your father?" The question was out before he could stop it. 

Doyle tossed the watch into the box and closed the lid. He hesitated, poised for flight. He looked at Bodie, then his gaze slid away. He settled back against the wall, resting the side of his head on an updrawn knee, eyes focused on his fingers as they plucked the laces of his trainers. 

"I asked me mum that once too often and she told me. There were two trade fairs in Birmingham at about the right time. My father is either a plumber or a barber." 

The matter-of-fact tone of voice didn't invite condolences so Bodie didn't offer any. "On the stroll, was she?" It must have been the right approach because Doyle's eyes finally met his. 

"More like on the prowl. She was always lookin' for somebody to sweep in and change her life into some fairy tale. She'd find somebody, he'd take her on, then either he'd take off or she'd dump him when something better came along. When things fell apart, we'd end up back at Gran's. Sometimes she'd leave me there and take off on one of her trips. She was on the stroll then, at least that's what Gran would tell me." 

Bodie knew with certainty that Doyle had never voluntarily told this to anyone. The trust this demonstrated touched him, but he felt distinctly uncomfortable. Tonight Doyle would tell him anything he asked. Honor demanded he tell Doyle the truth as well, but he instinctively shied away from the idea. He told himself that he hadn't asked for this; it was Doyle's choice. Unable to resist totally, he steered the conversation back to less personal matters. "What happened at the hospital?" 

"Ever since waking up I'd been waiting for the cops to come and drag me away--and there they were. Ted was making an identification of the alleged felon. He didn't expect to see a runty kid with a jaw full of wires and a face swelled to the size of a football." 

"Too pathetic to prosecute, eh?" Bodie relaxed slightly. 

"Yeah. The cops were pissed. They kept trying to get the names of the others, but I wasn't about to roll over on that lot. They'd have given me a matched set if I had. Besides, it was an accident." 

"Ted came back, did he?" Bodie prompted. 

"I was in hospital a month because the bone wouldn't mend. They ended up putting in plastic. Those were the longest days of my life. The doctors wouldn't tell me anything and I was a nuisance to the sisters. All I did was draw. That's what I was doing when Ted came back. It turned out he was an architect. He looked at what I was doing and told me how to make it better." 

Doyle lapsed into a silence that Bodie chose not to break. Dawn was beginning to slide through the darkness. Doyle was no longer a grey figure. His features were now discernible from the shadows surrounding him. His eyes were dreamy, as if viewing the past scenes he was conjuring. His arms hugged his updrawn legs. 

"You know, Bodie. Nobody had ever really talked to me before. It's hard to explain, but that conversation was the first time I remember feeling unique, as if I was someone in my own right, as if I might have something to say." He laughed wryly. "It must have been hell for him trying to find things to talk about. I was an ignorant little sod." 

"I thought you said he was gay? Even a month in hospital doesn't sound like enough to rehabilitate the little monster you're describing." 

Doyle shrugged his shoulders. "I didn't think he was. I'm not exaggerating when I say I was ignorant. The only thing I knew about queers was what I learned from my friends. Ted was a nice guy, he wasn't a drooling sex maniac who sounded like a bad Peter Lorre imitation." 

Bodie chuckled. "Different streets, same stories." But he still had a niggling doubt about 'good old' Ted. "If he was such a nice guy, why did he follow you into the alley?" 

Doyle jumped to Ted's defense. "He followed to give me a good talking to. He'd gotten as far as 'Do you know how dangerous'...when he got jumped." 

Bodie let it go, although he wasn't totally convinced. "Did you keep seeing him?" 

"Yeah. He had a flat just a few streets away from that damn alley. I didn't make a nuisance of myself or anything, but I'd go over once in awhile. He'd give me a drawing lesson or let me mess with his paints and stuff if he was busy." Doyle smiled. "Sometimes he'd take me to a construction site, introducing me as his associate. I got a real kick out of that." He was smiling fondly. 

"But how'd you find out he was gay?" 

Doyle shook his wrist, making the silver chain sway. "As I got a little older I started noticing things. It wasn't any one incident. Just a lot of little things. I'd met some of his friends and I'd gone over early enough to realize that one of them had spent the night. Maybe it was the way he interacted with them. I don't know. This bracelet caught my eye as well. I finally got up the nerve to ask him. He thought I'd known all along. He said he wasn't ashamed, and he hoped I wasn't upset, but tough shit if I was. I felt funny about seeing him for awhile, but when I showed up again, he didn't mention it and neither did I." 

Bodie wondered if the guy could walk on water, but he didn't ask. "How did you get the bracelet?" 

"It was a going away present. Mum had met this bloke and she was determined to drag me off to Derby. He turned out to be decent enough. He even married her." 

"How old were you?" 

"Fifteen or so. I finished up school there, then came back for Art College." He gave a snort of amusement. "I learned one thing at Art College--I wasn't as good as I thought. I was competent enough, could've gone commercial, drawing cereal boxes and the like, but that didn't interest me, neither did art as a way of life. Too boring." He shrugged sheepishly. "I missed the streets." 

"What did Ted say to that?" 

"He wasn't too pleased," Doyle admitted. "He never could understand how I could love art and not devote my life to it. What little talent I had made me feel different, like maybe I was meant to be more than a second-rate mechanic or a first-rate thief. Ted encouraged me, made me think about what I wanted from life instead of letting life tell me." 

Doyle sighed. "I know I'm making him out to be some kind of superman, but at the time that's how he seemed to me. Looking back, I can see that he was probably lonely. Having a hero worshiping kid around may have been kind of fun for him." 

"He sounds like a good friend." 

The warm glow that had lit Doyle's eyes as he reminisced abruptly shut off. "But I don't treat my friends very well, do I, Bodie?" Doyle met his eyes determinedly, demanding the truth. 

Bodie gave it to him. "No, you don't," he said simply, and Doyle didn't flinch from it. "But you are a good friend." 

Having been the target of enough of Doyle's little tirades, he had a few more words to say on the subject, but he didn't add anything. He didn't have the right to judge Doyle when he didn't have the guts to be honest in return. "Did you say something to Ted?" 

Doyle smiled bitterly. "You know me pretty well. I made a real jerk of myself, and I was too stubborn to go back and apologize. I was 19 when I last saw him. More and more time passed and I never got up the nerve to try again." 

"It must have been pretty bad--what you said, I mean." 

"It was." Doyle shifted uncomfortably. "He had invited me to dinner to meet someone. Seems he'd found someone permanent. I was just getting started on the force and you can imagine the opinion my fellow officers had of homosexuals. I would shake my head and congratulate myself because I was so broad-minded. After all, I had a gay friend." He pushed at the sleeve that had slipped from its usual place around a narrow bicep. "Ted's lover turned out to be a real queen. He had the mannerisms, the accent, the whole works. Ted had been so--" 

"Un-gay?" Bodie supplied helpfully. 

Doyle shot him an annoyed look. "Ted was a regular guy." He continued, "I could feel every eye in the place on us. I spent the whole dinner worried someone from the station would see me. It would have gotten around like a shot." 

Bodie felt slightly uncomfortable. "You do have to worry about things like that." 

"Ted was my friend and I treated him like dirt," Doyle said explosively. He continued more calmly. "After dinner Timothy went on ahead while Ted and I had it out. 'Ignorant hypocrite' was one of the politer terms he used. Deep down I knew he was right, but I lost my temper and said a few choice things myself. I never saw him again." 

Bodie hated to see him hurting. "If it's still bothering you, go see him. It wouldn't be hard to find him. You do work for CI5, you know." 

"Even CI5 doesn't have connections that good. He died a month ago. I saw it in the paper." He looked out the window, lapsing into silence. 

Bodie frowned. The silence had a finality to it, yet Doyle hadn't really answered his question. "Why are you wearing the bracelet?" 

Doyle looked at him as if he was a mental defective. "I've just told you." 

"No," Bodie corrected evenly. "You told me about a good friend that helped you a lot. What are you trying to prove by wearing the bracelet?" Bodie was being reasonable, but one look at Doyle's face told him his effort wasn't being appreciated. 

"I'm not trying to prove anything," Doyle snapped. "Christ Bodie, I hurt him. Just because I was afraid what people would think." 

"And now letting people think you're gay is supposed to make up for it?" Doyle's convoluted motives often baffled him. 

"I want to remember a friend. Why is that so difficult for you to understand?" Doyle leaned forward, emphasizing his words with the aggressive tilt of his chin. "I can't afford to care about what other people think. If I live for the opinions of others, I'm not living for myself. The only thing the others on the squad have the right to judge is how well I do my job, and that's only because their lives depend on it." 

Bodie took a deep breath, shaking his head at Doyle's naivete. "This is the real world, Doyle. You get judged by the way you blink, the way you breathe and the way you dress." 

"Don't you see, Bodie?" Doyle asked fervently. "It won't matter unless I let it, and I choose not to let it." He seemed disappointed when Bodie didn't reply. "I'm sorry this is causing you problems, but I'm going to keep wearing it. They're not talking about you, you know. And while I appreciate the support, you can bow out of it. It'll blow over soon." 

Bodie didn't bother to disagree. One look at the stubborn set of Doyle's chin told him it would be pointless. 

Doyle began fiddling with the brush lying beside him, pushing it from side to side. "You know," he began awkwardly, "before I came over here I was thinking that maybe I had messed things up with you the way I had with Ted." His eyes remained glued to the motion of the brush, but he spoke intently. "I don't want that to ever happen." 

"Don't..." Bodie swallowed. "Don't worry, Sunshine. I won't let it." Suddenly, the prospect of being the buffer between Doyle and the real world didn't seem so bad. 

Doyle broke the intensity of the moment. "Christ, it's almost 5:00. I'd better let you get your beauty sleep." He hopped off the dresser. When he got to the door, he turned and looked speculatively at Bodie. He started to say something, then seemed to change his mind. A devilish gleam lit his features. "Tell me, Bodie, what would you have done if I'd come here to tell you I was gay?" 

Ten possible responses rushed from his brain to his mouth. Unfortunately, they collided there, leaving him speechless. 

Doyle chuckled. "Don't worry about it. Besides, you'd be the first to know." 

The moment the bedroom door closed, Bodie lunged off the bed. Unfortunately, the covers snagged his foot, sending him painfully to the floor. His fingers worked frantically, but as the last encumbrance fell away, his front door closed. 

"Damn!" Bodie slumped against the bed. He could still catch Doyle before he got too far, but he continued to sit as the seconds ticked away. He was disappointed in himself, and that was unusual. 

He climbed off the floor and stood looking at the bed. It was too early to get dressed--and after the conversation with Doyle, he couldn't go back to sleep. He flopped onto the bed, lacing his fingers behind his head and lay there thinking about the tangled web that ensnared them. 

The irony of it was amusing, but he didn't feel like laughing. What would Doyle do if he found out his 'un-gay' partner was bi-sexual? His past was still very much a part of him, whether or not he'd done anything about it lately. 

The fact that Doyle deserved to know plagued him with guilt. It hurt when Doyle lumped him in with the rest of the world, and here he was doing the same thing. He had no desire to be an object of gossip among his colleagues, so he had carefully maintained his reputation as a lady killer--not that it took that much effort. But he had obviously convinced Doyle as well. Doyle had trusted him enough to give him a part of himself. He should have returned the trust. 

He rolled over and closed his eyes. All this brought back memories he preferred to forget. After all, it wasn't as if he were pining away lusting after the odd bloke! Once in a while, the memory of how good it could be with a man piqued his interest, making him vaguely restless, but the echo would die away and with it the desire. When he had joined CI5, he had sworn he would never jeopardize his position by indulging himself and he never had. 

Never play where you work and never work where you play. The credo had worked well enough up to now. It had been a costly lesson, but one he would never forget. If he'd learned it sooner, he would probably still be in the SAS. 

Trying to sleep when he knew he couldn't had lost its appeal. He got up and automatically began to make up the bed. He'd twisted it up during the night, leaving most of it lying loose, so he decided to go ahead and change it. The automatic motions he'd learned when he was taught to make his bed the army way brought back bitter memories. At the time, going on leave with the new sergeant had seemed a harmless thing to do. As he pulled the linens off, his mind conjured a picture of Brian, at least the little he remembered. The weekend of casual sex had been enjoyable, and he hadn't thought anything of it. 

He balled up the dirty linens and threw them in the hamper and retrieved clean, crisp replacements from the airing closet. If Brian hadn't been stupid enough to get arrested in a hotel with a sailor's cock up his arse, nothing would have come of it. Once he was tossed out, it hadn't taken long for the others to remember with whom he had spent his last leave. 

The bottom sheet floated into place. Checking to see if it was even, then pulling one side over a bit, Bodie bent to do the corners. The interview with his CO had been the worst. The old bastard hadn't come out and asked him directly if the rumors were true, he had just made it clear that they better not be. Some of the others treated it as a joke, pretending to be broad minded. But when competition heated up they were the first ones to start the talk again, holding it up as a weakness. 

He stood back and admired his mitered corners. Once you had learned to make a bed the army way, you never forgot. If he had a coin handy he would have bounced it on the taut sheet. The top sheet went on quickly and just as precisely. He was still angry with Keller. When the bastard had asked if the rumors were true he'd been stupid enough to admit it. Jack had said he didn't want to be re-teamed. That wasn't his style. He preferred the noble approach, throwing it up to him and expecting undying gratitude. 

The more he remembered, the firmer his resolve became not to let on anything to Doyle. He didn't doubt Doyle's friendship. He was more afraid of disappointing him, not because he was bisexual, but because he refused to be open about it, as "Saint" Ted appeared to have been. He remembered the teasing 'you'd be the first to know' and laughed. The funny thing was that Doyle really would tell him. No details of course; the little rat never supplied those. Of course, Doyle would then turn into a gay activist, wearing Gay Power t-shirts to work. Bodie grinned at the thought. 

He arranged the pillows and pulled the spread over them, using his forearm to make a sharp crease under the pillows. The only way Doyle would find out about his bisexuality would be if he got the little sod in his bed. But that wasn't likely to happen. He smoothed the spread and gave the bed a final pat. 

Although being partnered with Ray Doyle tested his non-involvement resolve, any thoughts of trying it on with him hadn't lasted more than the first two weeks of their pairing. Ray Doyle was absolutely oblivious to any hint that another male might be good for more than a game of squash. Since Bodie had sworn never to make the first move, and because he was sure that Doyle would never think of it, their relationship had developed free from any sexual innuendo. Sex with Doyle would be good, but nothing was worth messing up what they had. The aggravating little toad was a good friend and that meant a lot. Maybe someday he would be able to let him know. When hell froze over. 

************

Doyle stepped under the hot spray. The shower would hopefully revitalize him enough so he wouldn't feel as if he'd been up all night. Cowley had a nasty habit of singling somebody out for extra attention if they appeared to be suffering from non-work-related fatigue. Of course, everyone would think he'd been out cruising the bars, but he told himself he didn't care. 

He soaped the rag and rubbed his arms briskly. He must've been more tired than he realized to have even considered saying what he had almost said to Bodie. The thought made him cringe. Imagine telling Bodie he'd thought about makin' it with him. Over the past weeks, with the rumor and all, it had been impossible to not think about making it with a guy. Every time it had popped into his mind, though, Bodie had been the only man conjured. 

Doyle grinned. Poor old Bodie would have been shocked to death. But even if he had gone over there tonight to tell Bodie the rumors were true, he knew Bodie wouldn't have abandoned him. He'd have tried to talk him out of it, but in a week he'd be joking about it. Give Bodie a month and he'd be fixin' him up with blokes from the motor pool. Sometimes it seemed Bodie's only hobby was an abnormal interest in his partner's sex life. 

Doyle finished washing and moved back under the spray. He shut his eyes and let the water run down the front of his body, remembering the strange dreams that had fueled his speculation about having it off with Bodie. The idea was strangely erotic. He stepped out of the shower and turned off the water. Dreams were fine, but there was no need to mention it to Bodie. It was just a reaction to all the talk. If he started fancying blokes on the street, then he'd take it seriously. 

************

Bodie looked at his watch. The briefing was due to start at 4:00, so judging from past experience--Cowley would arrive at 4:00. For maximum effect, Bodie decided to make his entrance at 3:55. He nervously drummed his fingers on the desk. This whole thing could backfire very easily and make the situation even worse. But the plan had already been set in motion. 

At 3:50. Bodie rose and surreptitiously looked around. He reached his left hand into his right sleeve, feeling for the thin silver chain that had been lodged there since he had walked into headquarters. A small tug freed it and it slithered down to fall loosely around his wrist. 

He looked at the delicate silver chain distastefully. Buying the damn thing had been a trial. When he had asked to look at bracelets, the clerk had brought out a tray of solid looking ID bracelets. Asking for something a little more "delicate" had earned him a knowing look. 

Time to go. Walking down the hall, it felt as if the damn bracelet was a flashing neon sign. When he got to the briefing room he paused, looking over the stage. His usual chair at the front beside Doyle was empty. McCabe and Jax were in place. He hoped that they remembered their parts. The place was buzzing, but as usual, Doyle was sitting quietly, not talking to anyone, his nose in a magazine. 

He walked into the room and purposefully took the long way, through the crowd of chairs that leaned precariously in one direction or another-- like so many demented Towers of Pisa. Heads turned, neighbor nudged neighbor, and conversations petered out in his wake. He sat down and let the tension build. The only person who hadn't noticed was Doyle. Rolling his eyes, Bodie laid his arm out on the desk, making sure the sleeve didn't spoil the whole effect. 

"Mornin', Sunshine," Bodie drawled. His tone was a shade too warm, and the smile that accompanied the words a tad too soft. 

Doyle glanced over at him, mumbled something and turned back to his magazine. Bodie started to count. One. Two. Three. Doyle quit reading and turned, a puzzled expression on his face. Slowly, he turned his head. He looked at Bodie's arm then cautiously looked him in the eye. Bodie choked back a laugh. If Doyle's eyes got any bigger they'd pop out of their sockets. Bodie quirked a patented eyebrow. Something akin to panic lit Doyle's features as he snapped his head face front. 

Bodie relaxed. So far, everything was going as planned. The din of voices had dampened to whispers. Patiently, he waited for the next unwitting actor. 

"Where'd you get the bracelet, Bodie?" Good old Simmons could always be trusted to ask a tacky question. 

Bodie turned, bestowing a beatific smile on him, and answered with as straight a face as he could manage under the circumstances. "Ray gave it to me, isn't it lovely?" 

To his right, it sounded as if Doyle had swallowed his tongue. From behind, he heard a mixture of surprised grunts and short barks of laughter. 

McCabe shot to his feet right on cue. "Ray Doyle, you two timing little beast." He held up his arm. A silver bracelet dangled there. "You swore I was the only one." 

"Just one minute." Jax joined the ruckus, a silver bracelet glittering on his wrist as well. "I'm the one he loves." 

By this time half the room had erupted into laughter. McCabe and Jax had began improvising an argument that soon had almost everyone on the floor. 

Bodie watched the scene he had masterminded unfold. The rest was up to Doyle. Come on, Ray, he encouraged silently. Join in the joke, show them how ridiculous it all is. Doyle's face was a mixture of wariness and amusement, and Bodie wasn't sure which would win. McCabe and Jax were now demanding that he choose between them. Bodie let go of the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, when Doyle jumped to his feet. 

"Stop it. Both of you," he ordered imperiously. "I've made my choice." He looked a bit uncomfortable when the background noise died away. He glanced quickly at Bodie, then continued. "You'll both have to give the bracelets back. You see, my heart belongs to Bodie." 

"You swore you and Bodie were through," McCabe wailed. 

"And I gave you the best ten minutes of my life," Jax accused. "What's he got that I haven't got?" 

Lewd answers and catcalls ensued when Doyle's gaze moved pointedly toward Bodie's crotch. "It's the eyelashes. Just look at 'em, so long and luxurious." Obligingly, Bodie fluttered them, sending Doyle into a swoon that dropped him to his seat. Around them the tumult rose as everyone contributed risqué jibes. Bodie relaxed into his seat, sure this would finally end the stupid rumors. Different comments reached his ears, most of them in the "I told you it wasn't true" vein. Feeling satisfied with himself, he looked over at Doyle and winked. 

Doyle's expression wiped the smirk off his face. Doyle was smiling, but it wasn't like any smile Bodie had seen before. The grin lit his face, igniting the green eyes. There was no wariness, no bitter edges. Nothing was held back. The power of it was devastating. 

Bodie had a sneaking suspicion his grin was as goofy as Doyle's. 

"If the pair of you can delay your honeymoon for another hour, I would greatly appreciate it." Cowley's comment brought the room to order. 

Eyes front, Bodie listened half-heartedly to the briefing. Highly amused, he knew it had all been worth it, the damage to his bank balance and the risk to his carefully calculated reputation. For once he abandoned his camouflage and looked over at Doyle without masking the emotion in his eyes. Covertly, he tried a cautious 'thumbs up' signal. 

Doyle returned the gesture, his eyes accepting the gift. 

Bodie leaned back in his chair with a satisfied grin. Accounts even. 


End file.
